Kissed Your Lips and I Tasted Blood
by Niente Zero
Summary: In deep Chicago winter, Fraser faces his darkest hour. Ray helps him find light in the darkness. But Ray must fight his anger, and Fraser has to choose between love and fear. Fraser/RayK pairing. Warning: Violence, mature emotional themes.
1. Tasted Blood

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_Warning: This story contains violence and mature emotional themes._

_Author's Note: This is a very personal story. It approaches questions of character and motivation from what I recognize as a rather dark perspective. I hope you'll bear with it. There is light in the end. The story is slightly AU inasmuch as it rearranges the timeline of some events in Season 4, not to mention branching off into a whole other plot line, but who's counting? _

_Thanks to vic32 for encouraging me to grow this from its very short origin, and holding my hand through the hard parts._

**Chapter 1 - Kissed Your Lips and I Tasted Blood**

Not a nice sort of neighborhood. Late one night, Benton Fraser walked through the ghetto streets he'd lived on when he first moved to Chicago, a strange malaise making his steps drag. The new year was barely days old. This business, the sooner he did it, the better. But even knowing that, he could not make himself move any faster.

Frankly, the neighborhood wasn't as bad as his first partner, Ray Vecchio, had made out. It wasn't like you couldn't walk down the streets without fearing for your life. Especially not if you were six foot tall and nearly 200 pounds of muscle. But there were streets you shouldn't walk down, if you knew where to look. Streets where Fraser was going to find what he was looking for.

The bruises from the beating he'd taken at the hands of the mob boss Warfield's hired thugs were healing quickly. Physically, Fraser always healed fast. This he considered to be one of the many ways the outside didn't match up with what was inside. Some things didn't heal. Some things were just open, gaping wounds. But no one saw, he was damned sure of that. He was too good. Too good at making it look just like the inside was as shiny and pure and noble as people seemed to think his face looked. He'd picked up the pieces of himself and pretended that what he'd felt after he'd been left lying in that alley wasn't disappointment.

It had been eye-opening to realize, as he got to his feet, that he felt a desperate pang of loss because he'd survived being thrashed with a two-by-four. That in that narrow street he'd found a hope, a hope that they'd do it right and do what he couldn't. That they'd end his life. Standing up afterwards, it was the bruises inside that hurt most. The realization that, dear God, he was still alive, and he wished he wasn't.

How long had he wanted to be- for it to be over? If it wasn't bad enough that he saw the ghost of his father, whose death he'd neatly avenged, now he was reliving Hamlet's other little dilemma. Only not really, because 'not to be' was the obvious answer to Benton Fraser's question.

Fraser walked down the streets alone, looking for trouble. Not in uniform, not for this. With luck, no one would know that he'd disgraced himself. No one would think he was seeking out his own death. It was a lot tidier than putting his father's service revolver in his mouth and- well, it was easier on anyone left behind. Better for them. The people who cared just enough that they'd be shattered if he killed himself, but who he was sure would get over it quickly if he found a fight and went down that way. Constable Fraser of the RCMP avenging injustice, and biting off more than he could chew.

He wished he could lie to himself, too. It'd be easier if he could believe that. He'd done pretty well so far. Putting himself at risk needlessly and lying and lying to himself and everyone else about why. But after the beating, after that heartbreak he'd felt when they walked away and left him still breathing, he couldn't lie to himself any more.

He just couldn't stand to be alone with himself on his narrow cot for one more night. So alone. So screwed up. It was no wonder he was alone. Who'd want him? If they could see past the face he presented, everyone would loathe him as much as he loathed himself. Traitor. Weak. Arrogant. Stubborn. Libidinous. (Although that, not so much of late. Depression tended to kill those urges.) Self-righteous. Weak. Did he mention that? Not good enough to be loved. He'd never been. He never would be. Never good enough to be loved. Always doing things to make people leave him. Too demanding. Always getting people hurt. Never able to protect them. A lie. A liar. A damn facade, a whited sepulcher.

Maybe none of it was true, maybe it was depression talking in his head. He had reason enough for that. But if that was the case, that made him even weaker for succumbing, for thinking those things. And anyone who'd contemplate what he was contemplating - it was circular, but to even think of self-destruction instead of pulling himself together and shaking off the depression, surely that alone was worthy of the contempt he felt for himself.

Turning down a dark street, Fraser heard the noise he was seeking. He smiled to himself. No regrets. He had no family. No one would miss him that much. Maybe Ray would grieve for a while, but Ray would be better off without his selfish, stubborn partner dragging him into trouble. Better off without his partner distracted by longing for what he couldn't have.

There were four men going to town on a smaller man. Perfect.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, perhaps you'd prefer to pick on someone your own size?"

Yes, perfect. The men turned to him. The smaller guy ducked and ran away while he could. Fraser swung at one of the men, and was rewarded with a solid punch to the face. The men circled around him and two of them grabbed his arms. He didn't even have to pretend to fight back. They were drunk, angry, possibly high, provoked by his words and actions. He just had to stand there and take it.

One of the men who wasn't holding Fraser started talking. "What'd you want to go sticking your nose in someone else's business?" Slurred, furious. "Mess up that pretty face good, yeah."

The man's swings were imprecise, but he caught Fraser hard on the cheek, then across his mouth, splitting his lip, a glancing blow to his nose, skin tearing as the man's signet ring hit it, then finally a solid blow that fell right where his cheekbone curved up to meet his temple. He rocked back in the hands of the two men holding him, seeing stars.

This seemed to trigger the rage of the other man, who'd been standing, watching. With a sound that seemed like pleasure to Fraser, he joined in. Both men were aiming for the bigger target of his body now that his face was apparently satisfactorily messed up.

They weren't gentle, and pain was pain. Fraser was disgusted at the involuntary noises that he heard coming from his mouth, the small grunts and moans. Just because he wanted this, didn't mean it didn't hurt, the fists to the stomach, the wild kicks and punches. He wished they were armed so it would be over sooner. Again, he cursed his physical endurance, so unlike the weak creature inside. Soon, though, the two men holding him got bored and flung him so that he hit the wall of one of the buildings that bordered the street. That was better, the impact shocking all the breath out of his lungs, letting him slide to the ground where it was nothing but boots. One good kick to his head or his neck and it'd be done. He willed it to come.

Ray wasn't sleeping too well. He was worried about his partner. Sure, since the Warfield case, Fraser had acted normal, which was to say, infuriating and lovable in equal measure. Aloof and persnickety and yet loyal and strong. But something was not right. Something about the way he'd pulled himself together wasn't convincing Ray. It was just a bit too good. No one could feel the despair that he'd seen on his friend's face after the encounter in the alley way, then truly turn around and be all smiles and fine and nothing but forgiveness and warmth so quickly. Not even Fraser.

Diefenbaker was beyond worried about his human. He'd followed Fraser out of the Consulate that night, but his human had told him to stay, in no uncertain terms. Dief had tried stalking him stealthily, but it was no use. Fraser was keyed up and alert and turned once more and told Diefenbaker to go back to the Consulate before he took him back there and locked him in for the night.

If there was one thing Diefenbaker was good at it was strategic disobedience. He ran through the streets, finding his way easily to Ray's place. Using his lupine charm, he got into the building easily enough, then barked and scratched at Ray's door until the sleepy cop opened it up.

"Hey, Dief, bud, whatcha doing here?" Ray said, bending down. Diefenbaker barked and wiggled in a manner suggestive of "follow me."

"Timmy fell down the well, huh?" Ray said, rubbing his eyes. "Where's Frase, Dief?"

At this Diefenbaker barked urgently. Doors opened along the hallway and irate neighbors looked out to see what the disturbance was.

"Okay, okay. Quit it. Gimme a second to get dressed."

Ray quickly pulled on jeans over his boxers, socks and boots, a sweatshirt, his shoulder holster and a jacket. It was cold out. He followed Diefenbaker downstairs and out of the building.

"So, where's Frase? Consulate?" Ray leaned down so Diefenbaker could read his lips. He felt like an idiot, but talking to the wolf was the only way he was going to figure this out. Maybe. Assuming the wolf really understood him.

He got a bark, and the wolf leaning on his car.

They drove to the Consulate at way over the speed limit, and Dief barked again, demanding to be let out of the car. The wolf set to tracking. Ray followed behind him, driving more slowly than usual with the window wound down. "Sure hope you're tracking Frase, or we're going to have words." he said. "Where the hell has he got to, huh?" Again, Dief barked. So much for deaf, Ray thought.

"Woah, kind of a bad part of town." Ray said after a while. Diefenbaker loped along the pavement assuredly as Ray got his bearings. Wasn't this where Fraser used to live? Maybe the guy was feeling homesick for his burned down apartment. It made as much sense as anything else. Soon, Dief came to an alley too narrow to squeeze the GTO down. Ray got out and slammed the door, moving to a jog to follow Diefenbaker down the twisty maze of back alleys.

Ray heard the altercation before he saw it, and both he and the wolf hit a sprinting pace, rounding the corner in time to see Fraser slammed into the wall and slump down onto the ground, not even trying to defend himself against the rain of kicks.

Diefenbaker hurled himself forward with a snarl of fury. Ray pulled his weapon out and shot once in the air. "Chicago PD." he yelled.

The combined shock of the enraged wolf and the warning shot were enough to drive the four assailants to flee. Ray ran over and knelt beside Fraser.

Fraser opened his eyes. Ray almost fell over at the look of pain and loss in them.

"Why, Ray?" Fraser asked through bloodied lips.

Ray nearly couldn't speak. The meaning of the question struck him immediately. He just knew. Fraser wanted that? God. How had he missed it?

"I should ask you that." Ray said roughly. "How could you? How could you leave me?" Okay, it was selfish, but right now he was feeling selfish, selfish and angry. Diefenbaker seemed to agree. He was up in Fraser's face, making a deeply pissed-off growling sound.

Something in Fraser's expression broke. Suddenly he was saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry." over and over.

Ray gathered the bruised man into his arms, lifting him so his side lay across Ray's knees. "S'pose it's no good suggesting an ambulance." he said, burying his face in Fraser's hair, trembling. "God, I can't lose you, Benton, don't ever do this to me again."

Fraser turned to hide his face in Ray's shirt. "I thought. No-one. It wouldn't. No-one would-"

Ray found himself strangely adept at interpreting Fraser's fractured sentence.

"Yeah, well." his voice was still rough and raw. "Lots of people would. But even if they didn't. I would. I'd miss you. I'd... not be able to go on. More than miss you."

"I'm not..."

Ray felt his sweatshirt getting wet. Blood from Fraser's face and tears, and probably some spit and snot in there.

"I'm not worth it... Ray." Fraser struggled to speak.

Ray gently turned Fraser's face, lifting it to face him. He grabbed a handful of his own sweatshirt, hell, it was already ruined, and wiped some of the mess off Fraser's face. He leaned down, tenderly, and kissed the bruised and broken face, first the forehead, then the cheeks, the chin, then finally, softly, the mouth.

"I think you are worth it. We'll work on you thinking you are. But right now, all you got to know is I think you are. You're my partner, my friend, and that's not the least bit hard to say, Benton."

Fraser looked up at him with eyes shining with something new, a dawning hope, fragile as all hell. Something Ray would have to be careful with, but at least it was there.

"Okay, got some logistics issues to work out here. Dief, you wait with him. I'll get the GTO." Ray said, after a few more minutes of nuzzling Fraser's hair and sharing hungry kisses. He had enough hope to trust that Fraser wouldn't do something stupid while he was gone. He could use the walk to where the car was parked to compose himself, to shake as much as he'd wanted to when he saw the pain in Fraser's eyes, to stop shaking so much by the time he found the nearest streets to meet up with the mess of alleys. To rage in anger and get that under control. Fraser didn't need him angry tonight. There'd be time for that. Dear god, he'd almost been too late, but he hadn't, so there'd be time to be angry. And thank god, time to show Fraser just how much he was loved, how much he would be missed if he ever did something that stupid again.

Ray was surprised that Fraser and Diefenbaker both fit in the front passenger seat of his car. Normally he'd have objected on the grounds that it put the wolf's butt way too close to his face for comfort, but this wasn't a normal night, and he could understand Diefenbaker's instinct to curl up on his hurt human like an oversized lapdog. Fraser didn't seem to be objecting. It gave him somewhere else to hide his face so he didn't have to look at Ray on the drive back to Ray's apartment.

Fraser's mind was in turmoil. It had been doing such a good job of telling him one thing - that he was worthless - the bad, self-destructive part of his brain, the part that wanted to see him go down, had been in charge for a while now, had taken every piece of evidence and twisted it against him- that now he had a hard time with the unmistakeable fact that Ray really wanted him to stay alive. Not just in a "ask not for whom the bell tolls" sense of responsibility for a fellow human. In a way that involved Ray's tongue. In his mouth.

If Ray wanted him, liked him that well, then it threw a whole new light on the other evidence, brought into doubt his conclusions, shook his death wish, and remade his despair from something dull grey and choking around his neck to something vivid and jagged. The pain was like the sharp pins and needles of a sleeping limb waking up. He hadn't realized how little he'd been feeling except the dull certainty of what he needed to do, and now it was all upon him. He was very glad of Diefenbaker's fur to dig his hands into and rest his face against.

Ray pulled up outside his building. Fraser knew he should pull himself together now, stop making a sniveling fool of himself. But the beating was catching up with him, and he didn't actually have the energy to do anything more than let Ray help him out of the car and into the building, Dief following up as if he might try to make a break for it if the wolf weren't watchful.

Ray ushered Fraser into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He'd been doing his own thinking in the car. Like, maybe, kissing Fraser a lot more right now might be what he wanted to do, but might not be a great idea. Not while the crazy Mountie was arguably not in peak mental condition. Ray wasn't desperate enough to take something not being offered with clarity and reason. Now the first shock of seeing Fraser trying to get himself killed had passed, he had enough pride to want to be kissed back out of more than some kind of crazy reaction to events. So he'd go nice and slow. He didn't have so much pride that he'd keep hiding how much he loved his partner, hell no, not now, not with Fraser's life at stake. But he had enough pride not to beg for a response.

"Okay, um, sit down. We'll take care of those cuts and scrapes." Ray said, business-like. He wasn't going to hang over Fraser obscenely the way Francesca had when she fixed up his face after the last time. Fraser sank onto the couch. Diefenbaker curled up beside him, still watchful, as Ray went into the kitchen and filled a bowl with hot water and grabbed a tea-towel. He set them on the floor beside the couch, then went to the bathroom for his first aid supplies. He'd patched himself up often after sparring too roughly, or getting in a bar fight.

Ray squeezed onto the couch on the other side of Fraser from Diefenbaker. Fraser seemed to slump over into him gratefully, which startled Ray. The man must really be bad off if he was initiating physical contact, physical comfort like that.

"Let's take a look at you." Ray said, reaching for the tea-towel and dipping it in the hot water. He sponged the blood off Fraser's face with as much gentleness as he could manage. Fraser's face was a disaster area. His right eye was already squeezing closed with the swelling around it, his left eye was less blackened but still not pretty. There was a nasty cut over the bridge of his nose and another on his right cheek, and of course his bottom lip was split open. Ray winced. That was all going to hurt a lot. And he hadn't seen what they'd done to Fraser's body yet. That was going to be tricky, since unlike Francesca, he didn't want to seem eager to strip his friend down.

When he was done washing Fraser's face, Ray smoothed antiseptic cream over the cuts and taped the worst of them closed. Fraser didn't wince, but he was shivering under Ray's touch, which worried Ray more. He wanted to ice the bruises so they wouldn't swell, he had a bag of peas out of the freezer at the ready, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea.

"There." Ray said, trying to keep his voice even and steady. "Good as new." Fraser was far from as good as new, but what else was there to say?

Fraser sighed and moved uncomfortably. Ray knew he had to bite the bullet.

"This isn't a come on, Benton, but I gotta look at your ... I swear, I know I kissed you but I'm not Francesca..."

He hadn't finished the sentence before Fraser was shrugging off his jacket and his shirt. It seemed as though he had handed himself over to Ray, Ray thought, like one of those fancy prisoner transfers where someone had to sign that they were taking responsibility for the guy who was being handed off. Like Ray had signed up for the responsibility of Fraser. Which, he guessed, he had. It wasn't like Fraser was acting competent to make his own decisions at the moment.

Fraser took off his undershirt and added it to the pile on the floor. He wasn't sure why he was being so immediately compliant with Ray's caring. Perhaps because it felt so good. He knew Ray was telling the truth, this wasn't a come on. This was about something he didn't dare believe. This was about him, Benton Fraser, deserving to be touched with kindness, soothed, fixed up when he was broken, when he'd believed that he deserved to be kicked to death in a dark alley not an hour ago. It shook him how much he needed Ray's kindness, but he'd gotten himself into that pit of gloom where he had no kindness for himself, and Ray had always been- always, since the first day he met him- ready to show Fraser the warmth and friendship that he craved.

Ray gasped at the bruises that formed a terrible map over Fraser's body. There were still dull marks from Christmas, almost totally faded, but not entirely. But tonight's bruises were blooming red and angry, darkening to dangerous purple.

"Damn." Ray said. Just the one word, in a kind of awed tone. Well, he'd seen worse, but it still hurt to look at them. "Look, I got this stuff, arnica cream from, uh, well, Canada actually, it's hard to get the good stuff here. It'll help."

Fraser nodded and then replied, the first thing he'd said to Ray all evening that wasn't tinged with desperation. "Yes, arnica has a long history of medicinal use."

Ray grinned at this momentary lapse into normality, though his smile was still twisted through the vicarious pain of seeing his friend hurt like that. "Yup, long history of making Ray wake up with a lot less aches and pains." He rubbed the arnica over Fraser's aching body with firm motions.

Fraser closed his eyes and took in the clean, familiar, herbal scent. He was really very tired now. The sudden shock from total darkness and despair to Ray's world of light was too much. It wasn't making any sense yet and he didn't know when it would.

Then Ray's hands were gone from his body and he heard Ray screw the lid back on the jar. Ray took one more appraising look at Fraser's face. He seemed to have stopped shaking, so Ray draped the peas across the bridge of his nose.

"Hold these there for a bit. Okay, that's all I can do for you. Didn't seem like any busted ribs in there, huh? You're one lucky guy. I mean. Shit. I guess not if you felt ..." Ray trailed off, his voice full of pain. Then he rallied. "Look, we'll talk about that in the morning. You're about to drop."

Once again Fraser tried to pull himself together and present a brave face under his impromptu ice pack. It was only a partial success; it would have fooled anyone except Ray.

"Perhaps I should be... on my way."

Ray stiffened.

"If you think for one second I'm letting you out of my sight tonight, Frase, you're out of your mind."

Fraser took a deep breath and tried to think of a snarky retort that'd get him out of there with some shred of dignity intact. Like something about how apparently he WAS out of his mind. But Ray didn't give him time. Ray relaxed, patted his shoulder, just like normal, and started to speak again.

"Bad choice of words there, but it doesn't matter. Would you leave me alone if I had a night like the one you just had?"

Fraser shook his head.

"Didn't think you would. But right now you probably hate yourself pretty bad, and believe me I've been there. You've seen me there. I know how it goes. You can't figure out why I don't hate you. And you can't see straight that I won't let you hurt yourself again. You got a choice of staying here with me, or I can take you back to the Consulate and I'll sleep on the floor, but I bet we'll both be more comfortable here."

Ray allowed himself to rub Fraser's tight shoulder. "You told me to trust you when I couldn't even trust myself. Now I need you to trust me. I'm here for you, and I ain't going anywhere. Quit trying to hold it all together for a bit, and get some sleep."

"Yes- I- I do trust you, Ray. I suppose that would be sensible." Fraser conceded. He slouched down, looking defeated.

Ray thought about trying to get Fraser to take the bed, but he knew that his friend was walking a fine line. Too much kindness right now could be just as overwhelming to his disoriented mind as his apparently crushing self-doubt. Ray merely removed Fraser's hiking boots and arranged the exhausted man more comfortably on the small couch.

Ray watched for a while until it seemed that Fraser was sleeping. Then he put the peas back in the freezer, went and locked his gun in a drawer, and pulled blankets and pillows off his bed so he could lie on the lounge room floor. If there was a 'tuck in on the floor, I got suicide watch on my partner' badge, he was earning it tonight, Ray thought with grim humor. He meant what he said about not letting Fraser out of his sight. He was between Fraser and the door, and Diefenbaker was at the foot of the couch, and that was where they were staying.


	2. I Come to Your Emotional Rescue

**Chapter 2 - I Come to Your Emotional Rescue**

Fraser slept later than usual and woke up to hear Ray on the phone.

"Yeah, no, he doesn't look too good. No, no message. Nah. No-one he knew. Just bad luck. Broke up a mugging. I'll bring him in tomorrow to try to ID the assholes but - yeah, great. You'll call the Ice- er, Inspector Thatcher? Thanks, I will."

Ray hung up the phone.

"Damn, didn't mean to wake you. Anyway, I just called Welsh to let him know what went down. Relax, we have the day off."

Fraser was disoriented for a moment, but then he remembered the important question.

"You didn't tell him-" he looked horrified.

Ray shook his head emphatically. "Nope. And I won't. We're not going to tell anyone that until we figure out what you're doing about it. If you get a counselor you can tell him, you'll have patient privilege. But we're not screwing your career and your life over this."

Fraser collapsed with relief. "Thank you, Ray." he said.

"WE are going to talk about it, though. So don't be too relieved and all that."

Fraser steeled himself, putting on a resolute expression. Ray sighed. It was going to be a long day.

"I appreciate everything you've done, Ray." Fraser said, formal as could be. "I'm afraid I showed poor judgement in the direction of my post-prandial constitutional last night, but I assure you-"

Ray rolled his eyes. "This'll be over a lot quicker if you don't try to kid me you're okay." As thrilled as he was to see signs of the usual Fraser behavior, he wasn't going to let his friend shut everything down behind a brick wall of polite obfuscation today. "Now, you'll feel better if you have a shower, even if I don't have any clean clothes to fit you. I'll fix us breakfast. Go. Shoo."

Fraser stood under the hot water, leaning his head against the wall of the bathroom. There was nothing left but aching and humiliation. He'd shown Ray the dark emptiness inside him, and he was ashamed. And now it seemed Ray wasn't going to let him cover up his embarrassment. God, he could just... only that hadn't worked so well. He didn't cry, but he felt like the weight of tears was hanging heavy in his chest. He stood there until the hot water went out, then toweled himself off. Looking on the bathroom counter he was unsurprised, but nevertheless touched, to see that Ray had left the jar of arnica cream there.

He smoothed it over the bruises once more, and by then the mirror had unfogged to let him squint at the unholy disaster that was his face. He sighed. It appeared that he would have to get through the day without shaving. Another layer of armor stripped away. Dirty clothes, overripe bruises, and stubble. The outside beginning to resemble the inside.

He ran his finger over the ugliness of the split lip. Ray had kissed him. And that was the only thing that wasn't bitter and sharp about the whole ordeal. Ray had indubitably kissed him. Instead of crying, he laughed, not loudly enough for Ray to hear him, but shoulder shaking laughs that bordered on hysteria. If redemption from where he was was possible, Ray might be the one to redeem him.

Hearing the pad of bare feet on the floor, Ray turned around from cutting up a banana to go on cereal for breakfast, which he figured Fraser would appreciate the healthiness of, to find Fraser moving in fast, urgently, leaning down to press his lips against Ray's.

Ray's response was automatic. He'd daydreamed enough about kissing those lips, he didn't stop to think before he wrapped his arms gently around Fraser and enjoyed what was being offered. Fraser's arms matched his, pressing him close, holding him if anything, too close. Ray felt his arousal growing. With a groan, he remembered that he was supposed to be holding back from this, at least until Fraser was in a better mental state to choose it.

Pulling free of the kiss he said, "Benton, not like this. Let's eat breakfast."

"But I thought you wanted-"

"I do, Benton, I do." Ray traced Fraser's face with his hands. It was still warm and close to his, and the living embodiment of all the agony Fraser was carrying, as if Ray could forget. "But not for the wrong reasons, not ever. Not because you think it'll distract me from worrying about you or because you feel obligated. Don't wanna take advantage of ya. Would never. Mind you, as distractions go I'll take that over fallin' back into 'thank you kindly' land." He grinned for a split second, then spoke rapidly. "I love you. Promise. And I do want to kiss you and a whole lot more. Soon. Just not while you're half in pieces. Okay?"

"Oh." Fraser said. He disengaged from Ray, seeming to pull down into himself, somehow smaller.

"Look, I promise, I will do things to you that make your toes curl, I will hold you in my arms while you sleep, A to Z and everything in between, if that's what you want, but not until I know it's not just because I came riding in like some, uh, you know, knight, or something, when you were down. Okay? We okay?"

Fraser nodded. "You're probably entirely correct to mistrust my motives." he said. Which wasn't what Ray had meant, exactly. If that kind of turning it around so it made him the bad guy thinking was what was going on in Fraser's head all the time, Ray had a lot of work ahead of him.

"Not _your_ motives, freak." Ray said, managing a smile. "I'm the one who's trying to jump your bones when you're still all bruised up. Now sit down, I'm fixing breakfast."

Fraser didn't argue any more. As was not unusual, Ray's assertions had him off balance. Also, for the first time in a while, he was curious about what his next meal was going to be. His excursions into Ray's kitchen in the past had been less than promising.

Ray brought over two bowls, then two mugs.

"It's not much, but I didn't think you'd want anything heavy. I ran down to the convenience store while you were showering," he omitted to mention leaving Diefenbaker with orders to guard the door, "and grabbed some cereal, fruit, milk. And hot chocolate, I know it's kid's stuff, but it's kind of comforty, you know."

The cereal wasn't even heavily sugared, much to Fraser's relief. It was plain and sensible, and the banana on top was the perfect ripeness. He could actually taste it. He didn't really remember the last time he tasted what he ate and did more than go through the motions of fueling his body.

"This is good, Ray, thank you."

"I know the hot chocolate is only instant, but the milk is fresh at least." Ray was talking rapidly, half-apologizing for his hospitality and it struck Fraser that he wasn't the only one in the room with some insecurities to deal with. It just hadn't taken Ray in the same way. He drank too much and acted out, whereas Fraser turned it all inward.

"Ray, it's really. It's truly the best breakfast I've had in weeks." Fraser said sincerely. "You know, after my... after my mother died, my father retreated into himself for a while. He was lost without her, I think. I remember the first day that he returned to normal. He got up, shaved the beard that had grown while he was eating himself up with grief, then made me breakfast. Oatmeal with bananas."

Ray couldn't stop himself from reaching across the table to pat Fraser's forearm. Kisses in the past or future or not, he would have done that. Touch was his way of giving comfort, expressing sympathy.

"I miss him, Ray. I miss them both." Fraser said. He was surprised at himself. Bananas suddenly made him open up? But it wasn't the bananas. Of course not. It was the man full of vitality and affection across the table from him, who was looking at him and really listening, not tuning him out or waiting for his turn in the conversation.

"Did you ever... Frase, Benton, did you ever really take time to do your own mourning?" Ray asked.

Fraser tensed under his hand and then relaxed after a moment.

"I cried, once. Not at the funeral. Later. The man who betrayed my father tried to persuade me that my father had been corrupt. I cried in front of him." He looked up at Ray, saw no judgement in the clear eyes. "It was like he was trying to take everything my father had been away from me. After he'd already taken my father."

"After that?"

"After that I came back to Chicago. You know, they didn't give me much choice. And no, I don't suppose I ever properly mourned him. I'm not very good at letting go." Compounded, of course, by the presence of his father's ghost. But he still should have grieved properly. He knew that was one of the open wounds on his soul.

"Pretty good at pretending you've got it all sorted out though, huh?" Ray said. It wasn't said at all unkindly.

Fraser drank some more of the cloyingly sweet hot chocolate, and ate another few mouthfuls of cereal before he answered.

"Ah. Yes." He could pretend he didn't understand what Ray meant, or protest his innocence, but it seemed too late to try to keep the picture perfect front up, not after the night before.

"You had me going good, up until after the Warfield thing." Ray said.

Fraser's head jerked up. "You knew I wasn't-"

"Half as okay as you were making out? I figured. I just didn't realize how bad. I'm sorry, Benton buddy. Should have seen it."

"No, I- to tell the truth I find myself slightly alarmed you saw through me as much as you did."

"You're good, but no-one else touches you. I get to read you in a way they don't."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I suppose so."

Fraser played with the rest of his cereal, pushing it around the bowl with his spoon, before spoke again in quieter tones.

"I thought it was what everyone wanted me to be. Everyone seemed to want. Perfect, happy, no cracks, no pain, no anger. Ray Vecchio called me a saint, once. He never noticed- all the times I was angry. They never wanted to see. I thought it would be all right if I could just keep giving people that, no matter what was underneath. And then I seemed to find myself further and further from the surface, drowning underneath, and they all still thought I was perfect, happy. Some days were better, but some days it took all of my energy just to get out of bed and get the uniform on, and then I still had to pretend and pretend. I'm so tired, Ray. So I thought that if I- if what you saw last night- I could rest at last, and they would still get to think I was what they wanted. They'd never know."

"Christ, Frase, it was seriously easier to face getting yourself killed than tell me you needed help?" Ray said, some of the previous night's anger rearing up. He took his hand off Fraser's arm and shoved away his cereal bowl, the spoon clattering loudly against the rim, appetite gone.

Fraser's eyes were downcast. "It seemed that way. It was like being at the bottom of a well. I couldn't see any way out. I couldn't imagine being able to yell loud enough to make anyone hear. But."

Ray took a deep breath, calming himself. "But what?"

Fraser lifted his eyes, showing Ray traces of hope and trust. "But now I feel as if there might be a way out."

"Oh, jeez. Yes. There is. We're going to get you through this." Ray relented quickly, his mood passing as swiftly as it came. He reached out again, this time taking Fraser's hand in his and squeezing it, regretting breaking contact earlier. "I get it. I mean, I'm still really, really, like WAY, not happy that the first I know you're this down is when you're already lying on the ground bleeding, but I get it."

Ray's calming gesture seemed to settle them both. After a moment, Ray spoke again.

"So, buddy, how are you doing on the physical front? I need to get you to a doctor?"

Fraser shook his head. No more humiliation. He couldn't do that. "No, Ray. I'm - well, I will be- fine."

"How do you feel?"

Fraser snorted with a small laugh. "Actually, like I just got beaten up for the second time in two weeks, if you want the plain truth. But I will be fine. The last time was worse."

Ray scowled. The last time, when Fraser certainly hadn't let anyone rub arnica cream into his battered body, let alone tape his ribs or take him to get x-rays or any of the things that someone who cared about being okay would have done. Ray should have seen it. He put it down to standard-issue Mountie stoicism, which was a mistake.

"I will be fine, Ray." Fraser said again, almost pleading.

Ray stood up abruptly. "Yeah, okay. Thing is we have to talk this thing out. I just don't know- I don't think you wanna do it here, my territory. And the Consulate-"

Fraser shuddered. "Is hardly neutral territory, let alone my territory."

"That punishing yourself too, living in that dump?" He'd wondered, sometimes.

Fraser nodded, eyes down, ashamed to be exposed. "In a way. I don't need much, but-" He choked off his words.

"Don't." Ray said, "I'm not trying to put you on the spot. Just want to know. If you feel up to it, I can go get you some clothes from the Consulate and we can take a walk. Easier if you're moving, maybe."

There was no pity in his voice, just pragmatism, which steadied Fraser.

"I think I could. Yes. Please."

"You're not going to want to come with me to pick up clothes." Ray stated.

"No." Fraser didn't need to elaborate on that. "Inspector Thatcher might wonder why not." he added.

"Don't worry. I'll just tell her you're not up to the ride, which is mostly true. How about you take Dief out to do his business, then when I get back we can get you wrapped up warmer and go talk."

"You could take Diefenbaker with you. As you say, I'm not warmly dressed." Fraser challenged.

Ray shook his head, his mouth quirking, though not entirely in amusement. "You going to pretend you don't know why Dief's staying?"

Fraser's shoulders slumped. "Ray, I promise..."

"Just stick with furface. I'll be back soon."

Ray was beginning to think he'd now forever associate getting into the GTO with losing it. The calm control he'd more or less managed to maintain while looking after his partner fled as soon as he had the privacy to rage and shake. He flipped on the radio and cranked up the volume. He was doing pretty well at keeping things together in front of Fraser. He had to. This was some kind of crucial time for his friend. A time when Ray had to fight to pull him out of the darkness. That was lending Ray an otherworldly confidence and assurance in front of his friend.

But given this amount of space away from Fraser, Ray allowed himself to feel all the hurt and stunning anger. He wanted to hit someone. Not Fraser. The man had already found a way to get himself punished for his perceived shortcomings. Ray maybe wanted to hit himself for not seeing what was going on.

Ray drove erratically, distracted by the image in his head of what would have happened if he hadn't arrived on time. He imagined a phone call, being called down by Mort to identify a body. Fraser's body. Battered to death. He imagined seeing his friend cold on the slab and how he would have known - he would have known. Mort wouldn't have pointed it out to him, how he was found without his hat, that his hands showed no signs that he'd fought back. That the wolf was nowhere near him. Ray wasn't stupid, though. Ray had to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending another car, and he cursed loudly at himself and the other driver.

To tell the truth, a dark part of Ray did want to punish Fraser further. To repay him for finding it so easy to just leave Ray behind like that. It was going to be hard to trust his partner for a while. Hard to trust that he wouldn't leave Ray.

Another small part of Ray was chiming exultantly that he'd been right, Fraser wanted Ray as bad as Ray wanted Fraser. But that wasn't anywhere near as sweet as it should have been. The chemistry between them had been obvious, and their friendship a beautiful thing. He'd been happy to wait, not willing to put Fraser in the position of being a rebound lover after Stella, not willing to push the man who didn't have baggage so much as a set of matching wheeled suitcases faster than he was ready to go, unsure if in spite of their chemistry, Fraser would choose a more conventional path than love with him. After all, for all the heated glances and accidental-on-purpose lingering touches, they'd never talked about that, about Ray's sexuality being approximately as experimental as his hair on a good day, and they'd certainly never talked about Fraser's desires or proclivities. But it was all just part of what they had, and what they had was usually damn good.

They had a rhythm, sometimes it was great, sometimes it got thrown off, but it was a rhythm, it was building, it was pulsing under things, and Ray had been more than content to let it unfold, let it be what it was, find out where it was going when and if they got there. This, this wasn't how he wanted to find out for sure that Fraser was really into him, same way Ray was into Fraser. It was bittersweet at best.

The atmosphere outside Ray's building was chilly, not just because Fraser had gone out the night before oblivious to the January weather, wearing nothing heavier than a sweater over his undershirt. There was also a distinct frostiness coming off the wolf. Fraser bit his lip. Talking to Diefenbaker in public never embarrassed him - not that there were many people out on the street - but apologies were not his strong suit, and he had a feeling that he would be asking for a lot of forgiveness before the day was out. Starting with Dief, ending only when he was sure that Ray forgave him for his irrational, terrible impulse.

After Diefenbaker had answered the call of nature, still not letting Fraser out of his sight, the wolf trotted back over and began to herd Fraser back toward the door to the building.

Fraser sighed and knelt down next to his usually companionable wolf.

"Please." he said, making sure Diefenbaker was looking at his face. "I know I hurt you too. It was a mistake. I thought you'd be better off without me. They'd probably send you home. I've kept you from the wild for a long time, you know."

He held out his hand tentatively, but Diefenbaker was still aloof, giving nothing but a disgruntled whine at this explanation.

"Yes. It was foolish. It was..." Fraser was reduced to baring his throat to the wolf "...it was a sort of madness. I know you would never want me to leave like that. I'm sorry."

Diefenbaker stared into his eyes, a challenging gaze which Fraser met. Eventually the wolf seemed to be satisfied, moving forward to nuzzle his head into Fraser's outstretched hand.

"You're lucky to have a friend like that."

The commentary startled Fraser and he looked up, recognizing the voice.

"Oh." Fraser said. "I suppose you're here to -" he sounded bitter, resigned. His father's ghost. He expected a proper dressing down now, worse than the glimpses of terrified anger Ray had shown him. Something about pulling himself up by his bootstraps and being a man.

"Settle down son." Bob Fraser's shade said. "I don't need to tell you that your performance last night was unwise."

"I- I- did what I thought was the right thing. The only thing left for me." Fraser said. He was leaning in to Diefenbaker now. He felt that he might as well stay kneeling while his father passed judgement.

"But that doesn't give you any comfort now." Bob said.

"Not much." Fraser admitted tersely.

"Son. Son." Bob's voice cracked. "You should have known-"

"Better?" The word whipped out of Fraser's mouth harshly.

"No. That you are loved. That you have always been loved. Your mother and I..." Bob's voice was hardly more than a whisper, saying words that he'd once repudiated as unmanly.

Fraser let out a broken sounding whimper at this. He didn't need to articulate that he didn't remember when he last felt like he was really loved by anyone. Diefenbaker pushed in closer. Well, except his faithful companion. But a human needed more than that.

"The yank's a good man. This will be hard on him. You have to give him time. He-" Bob couldn't go so far as to say he was sure that Ray loved Fraser. No, that was too much. The afterlife might change his views on what his son needed, but it didn't change his tongue-tied inability to actually say anything involving big, scary four letter feeling words. "You should get inside, son. You're shivering, you've gone soft down here."

A lifetime of things left half said or unsaid in that elliptical, emotionally withholding way gave Fraser the decoder ring for that series of sentences.

"Thanks, Dad." he said, even smiling softly, before he stood and turned to go inside, his hand still in Dief's fur. His father's voice followed him, calling out, "Don't forget he's known loss too, son."

Ray parked a block from the Consulate for ten minutes until his head of steam was under control. He just wanted to go in, get something clean and warm for Fraser to change into, and get back to his damaged charge. Preferably without any guff from the Ice Queen, although if she wanted a fight, he was spoiling for one.

When he had his mood more or less under control, Ray drove the last block and squared his shoulder to head into the Consulate.

Turnbull greeted him immediately, worry obvious on his face.

"Oh, Detective Vecchio, what happened, is Constable Fraser... Lieutenant Welsh telephoned-"

Inspector Thatcher strode out from her office upon hearing Turnbull's babble.

"Detective." she said sharply. "I assume Constable Fraser is with you. Does he need assistance from your car?"

Ray took a breath before he answered. Keep it casual. Don't scare the horses. "Nah. Frase is going to hang at my place for a couple of days. I'm sure he has plenty of sick leave banked up."

Thatcher seemed to draw herself up even more rigid and perfectly postured than she had been.

"That won't be necessary." she said. "Constable Fraser can recover adequately here. We take care of our own." Her eyes softened to affection when she said this, but it made no difference to Ray. She was waving red flags in front of a bull without even knowing it.

"Right. You did a real great job of taking care of him before. We all did such a great job." His voice raised involuntarily and Inspector Thatcher took a nervous step back.

"You let him back to work how soon after he was beaten up?" Ray demanded.

Thatcher spoke, sounding defensive. "Naturally, Constable Fraser had Christmas and Boxing Day off, as the Consulate was closed."

"The next day after that?" Ray asked heatedly.

"Well, yes. But it was entirely voluntary, and it's not as if he had a great many duties. The decorations needed to come down and since he volunteered-"

Ray stepped forward, matching Thatcher's previous step back. "You didn't think maybe you should tell him to take some more time?"

"Constable Fraser has always healed remarkably quickly. Christmas can be a lonely time. You know that Constable Fraser finds performing his duty a consolation during difficult times. Routine can have a very calming effect."

As if she were speaking about a skittish horse, Ray thought. But easier to see Fraser like that than see that he was a person, a normal person, who needed a hell of a lot more than cold duty as consolation. They'd all let him down.

"Yeah, well, this time having his injuries taken care of an' having the chance to heal up properly is going to have to be his consolation." Ray snapped. "He's staying at my place. I'm just here to pick up some clothes.

Turnbull found the courage, or possibly blind obliviousness, to step forward in the face of Thatcher's flustered silence.

"I believe I can help you with that, Detective." he said. "If you'd kindly walk this way."

Ray snickered involuntarily at the combination of Turnbull's words and his poker-up-the-ass stride. Ray couldn't walk that way if you paid him. He followed Turnbull back to Fraser's tiny office. Turnbull held the door for him, then closed it behind them.

"Detective Vecchio, may I ask you a question?" Turnbull said, as he opened Fraser's closet. His voice sounded solemn.

"Shoot." Ray said. He expected some solicitous enquiry after Fraser's health. Something flowery and overly effusive.

"This is the second time that Constable Fraser has found himself, well, rather badly injured in a short time." Turnbull said. He seemed to be searching for words. "He has been, dare I say it, out of sorts. Do you think that... I mean to say... I know it's not my place. Constable Fraser surely wouldn't... but... Detective. Is there- is there a problem that I should know about? Is there anything I could have done?"

The babbling had reached a point of insight that Ray wasn't expecting from the slightly daffy Mountie. Turnbull seemed frozen in front of the open closet. Ray's lips pressed together in a thin line of anger. Another one who would have known. Who would have been devastated. God, Fraser. Stupid goddamn Mountie. He couldn't see how people turned to him like flowers turning toward the sun. Ray tamped the anger down and moved to place a comforting hand on Turnbull's shoulder.

"Nothin' you could have done. I should have seen it too. He's going to be okay, though. Just have to make sure he doesn't close down on us again."

Turnbull looked both appalled and relieved.

"You won't say anything to the Ice -er, the Inspector, will you?" Ray asked, worried now.

"Oh, no, Detective. I would never betray a confidence." Turnbull said. He raised three fingers in the traditional boy scout salute. "Scout's honor. I understand that Constable Fraser made you an honorary scout, so you know you can trust me."

Ray almost laughed at the young Mountie's solemn face, but decided that wouldn't be fair.

"Greatness. Let's find some clothes for Frase then. Jeans, sweaters, he'll need a coat."

Turnbull helped Ray pack a duffel bag. Ray felt like jumping out the window rather than going through the front door and facing Thatcher again, but Turnbull just walked him out of the Consulate, still blathering, now completely innocuously, and that seemed to be a good ward against Thatcher, like garlic against a vampire. She might very well be worried about her subordinate, but she'd got into bad habits, the same ones everyone seemed to be prone to, not seeing the man, just seeing the square jaw and the uniform.

Ray came home to find Fraser on the floor playing with the wolf. Although Ray seriously doubted either the furball or Fraser would characterize it in those terms. He'd probably get some arcane mumbo-jumbo about lupine pack bonding behaviors if he pressed the issue. It was still good to see.

Ray hoisted up the duffel bag. "I'll just put this in the bedroom. Get changed when you're ready. I'll fix a thermos or something. Uh, okay if it's coffee? I need my fix." It was probably for the best he hadn't had his fix before he went to the Consulate, because there may well have been mayhem.

"That would be fine, Ray." Fraser said. He was happy to have the luxury of changing into something clean. Ray made coffee in the thermos, doctoring it up with some milk and hot chocolate powder to make it sweet and creamy. He grabbed a bag from his coat closet and stuffed the thermos, a bag of m&ms and a box of cheddar goldfish in it. Who knew how long they'd be out walking about? Dief danced around his feet as they left the apartment, happy for the opportunity for a longer run than the short morning outing.


	3. Your Doors Are All Shut

**Chapter 3 - Your Doors Are All Shut**

In the GTO, Ray glanced over at Fraser, realizing that he hadn't actually planned a destination for their escape to neutral territory. He was surprised but pleased to see that the habitual barriers over Fraser's emotions were still missing. He couldn't say Fraser looked relaxed, in fact, he looked miserable. But openly miserable, which was something. Something better than stone-faced denial. Ray found himself feeling something he could only identify as fondness. Which was... sappy... and also, greatness.

Because you could have rhythm, you could have enough chemistry to put the DuPont empire out of business, you could have hot kisses in the kitchen, but the place his trust was going to come back from was rooted in the same place that fondness came out of. Heart, gut, liver? Who knew? But not from his dick talking, or, thank god, from the place that still kind of wanted to kick Fraser in the head for abandoning him. Ray smiled involuntarily. Miracle of miracles, Fraser's split lip curved right on up to match it. Just a fraction, but enough for Ray, for now.

"So, Benton Buddy. You know me and plans. I'm spontaneous combustion guy. Where do you want to walk?"

"If you don't mind, there's a park in my old neighborhood. It's quiet. In the warm months, the old men play chess there. But it should be empty now."

Ray found a parking space easily. Fraser was right, the small park was deserted. Old snow blanketed the ground, and above them, the sky threatened more. Even warmly dressed, Fraser looked hunched over to Ray, as if huddled against the cold. Ray knew that wasn't it. It hurt him so badly to see his brave, strong friend like this. But he also knew that it was a good thing in its own way. It took more courage for Fraser to let him see this than it would have to pop the ramrod back in his spine and carry on as if nothing had happened.

"This way?" Ray said, pointing out a path. Diefenbaker took himself off, frolicking like a cub in the snow.

"That would be fine." Fraser replied, and they set out, strolling slowly. Ray could also see from the way Fraser carried himself that the accumulated bruises were doing him no favors at all. That, however, Fraser was still evidently trying to conceal. His breathing and motions were too careful for anything else.

"So tell me what's going on in that thick skull of yours." Ray opened, rapping Fraser's head gently with his knuckles. "How long has this been going on?"

Fraser turned and looked at Ray, and Ray met his eyes. He saw a flicker of bravery in them, Fraser nerving himself up, something he'd seen plenty of times before when Fraser would get ready to confront the next armed badass in their way.

"Would you mind, terribly, if we held hands, Ray? I know that you wish to take things slowly, and I know that in some cultures it is a romantic precursor to kissing, although in others it is quite usual for platonic same sex pairs to hold hands as a sign of friendship rather than-"

Ray interrupted, sounding affectionately exasperated. "I would love to hold hands as a precursor, yeah. That would be fine, Frase."

"Would it be all right- I know it's cold, but-" Fraser was slipping off his glove, and Ray reciprocated. Apparently he'd got himself one clingy Mountie right now, but his hand would be warm enough grasped in Fraser's. The contact did not have the electricity of their kisses, but it did have a sweet familiarity. How many times had their hands accidentally met and then lingered? Their hands were practically an old married couple.

"Better?" Ray asked.

"Much." Fraser said, veering from Mr Eloquent to Mr Laconic.

"Okay, so, spill." Ray prodded.

"How long?" Fraser looked thoughtful. "I have always had dark spells. Moods that were unbecoming. But I must confess, I have experienced them more, and for longer, since I first came to Chicago. I know that some of it is simple, pointless homesickness. It gets worse in winter. In summer, everything is different, alien. In winter, things could are closer, but still so far from what I need."

Ray nodded sympathetically. "All this time, huh?" he said. His voice caught in his throat a little.

"Not... not this badly all the time. It- well, my melancholia seems to wax and wane. Sometimes, even when things are going very well, as they had been prior to Christmas, the dark thoughts and feelings are there, clouding everything, even though there's no earthly reason." Fraser shook his head discontentedly before he went on.

"And, yes, times of trial do tend to make it more difficult to bear up under the strain." Fraser said. "But sometimes I have been... happy. When I went North last time, I felt so free. And then I came back to find Ray was gone."

Ray started to interrupt but held his tongue.

"I was... shocked to find that I wasn't as miserable about losing him and my home as I expected. I didn't have time to be. You were there, you were an enigma, all light and energy. Everything I have not known. I was happy."

Ray smiled at this. "I'm glad I was good for somethin'" he said. "I know coming back like that, well, more stuff you couldn't afford to lose."

"It wasn't easy. I love calling you my friend, and... I hope that we can be more... but I still wish Ray Vecchio could be here. I miss him, and you're right, I'm tired of losing everyone I care for."

Ray pushed down a pang of jealousy. So what, Fraser wasn't allowed to have more than one good friend in his life? Besides, Ray Vecchio wasn't holding Fraser's hand, he was.

"He was there for me during the darkest time that I had before now." Fraser said. Ray assumed Fraser was still talking about Ray Vecchio.

"Tell me about it?" Ray asked.

He watched as Fraser's face underwent a transformation. It was like watching a door close. Unconsciously, Fraser stood up straighter, too.

"Ray, I can't-"

Ray turned to face Fraser and took his other hand too, anchoring him.

"No you don't. Do not do that. Do not close up on me now. I need to know. I need to understand." Ray said fiercely. He'd be damned if he let Fraser wall himself off again in that miserable place inside himself.

Fraser looked unsettled by the outburst, and tight jawed determination flashed on his face. But Ray kept steady eye contact, knowing that there was a fire in him now, hoping it spoke to Fraser. 'Be fair to me, Fraser.' he thought. 'I deserve to know.'

Finally Fraser said "It's a long story, Ray."

"You cold right now?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you, Ray."

"Then we got plenty of time. All the time in the world." Ray reached up with his gloved hand and stroked Fraser's cheek. "I got all the time in the world for you."

They went back to walking side by side, bare hands still clasped tightly.

Fraser started to speak, telling about tracking Victoria through the snow. The words flowed from him easily. His eyes darkened with the remembered emotions.

"Nah, not like that." Ray interrupted roughly. Fraser looked beautiful, but too distant, too far away from Ray while he was reciting the story. "Don't tell it to me like that. That's just stories you tell yourself. Tell it to me real. Tell me how it really felt."

Fraser faltered, surprised by Ray's keen insight. It was a story he'd told himself and others over and over, the words almost as ritualized as the poem she'd spoken.

"Well, it was cold. It was so cold. Too cold to think that we'd survive it. I knew that. I thought we would die, and when I thought that, I mistook - I thought I was in love, when really, I just didn't want to die alone."

Ray barked out a sharp laugh at this, which cause Fraser to turn to him with a look of ire.

"I'm not sure what's so funny." he said sharply.

"Just, Benton, that's why half the world ends up married. We think we're in love, we just don't wanna die alone. It's just short term versus long term, y'know."

Fraser considered this, in light of some of the truly miserable married people he'd met. It made sudden, absurd, hilarious sense, and he laughed out loud too.

Then he sobered, and squeezed Ray's hand. "But that's not us, is it?" he asked, with a tinge of panic to his voice.

Ray thought it through, letting his fingers stroke Fraser's hand in a calming way.

"Nah. I don't think what we have is anything to do with being afraid of anything. Maybe just plumb crazy, but not afraid."

Reassured, Fraser went back to talking, spilling out the conflict between love and duty that he'd felt, then the brooding regrets that had plagued him from the minute he handed Victoria over into custody.

"When she came back, even after everything she did to me and to those I cared for, all I could feel with every heartbeat was that she was my last chance. No-one had ever - I was sure no-one else could ever - see me like she did. Want me and want to hurt me and all of that together with such passion."

Fraser was looking at the snow beneath their feet, watching the smooth surface right before their steps marred it, unable to look up at Ray after admitting how desperate he'd been for anyone to love him, even if she hated him at the same time.

"Jesus, Frase."

Fraser braced for the string of recriminations he expected. How could he be so stupid? How could he betray his friend like that?

"She really got under you skin and just dug herself in there." Ray said, not at all what Fraser was expecting. "You had your guard down for once when you were freezin' up there, holding her. You learned you gotta get your guard down to let someone love you, but you learned it in the worst possible way."

"My guard is down now." Fraser whispered.

"I know, and again, not the best way to go about it. But you're letting me in, right? You're going to keep letting me in? I won't burn you like that. I'll show you. I'll show you it's safe to let people in. You gotta have more than me."

"I never thought I could have this much."

Ray shook his head. Crazy Mountie. He had so much worth loving, but he was too scared to let anyone get in at it.

"So go on." Ray said. "That was your darkest time? She left, you tried to go with her, Vecchio shot you. That's a giant pile of suck right there."

Fraser smiled slightly at the colorful expression before he went on.

"I think I owe my life to Ray Vecchio. If I'd succeeded in leaving with Victoria, I wouldn't have lasted long before the... horror... of betraying everything caught up with me. And if he hadn't- if he hadn't been steadfast beside me, in spite of all I'd done, in the hospital..."

Fraser's voice dropped to a whisper again. "I don't think I would have made it through. I would have- the pills- it would be easy. Ray. Ray wouldn't let me slip away from him."

"Did you see anyone?"

Fraser was startled by the question. He thought he'd seen Victoria hovering over him on the way to the operating room. But that couldn't be what Ray meant. He processed the phrase.

"Oh. Professional, ah, assistance? No, I- well, no. Save for a brief evaluation before I returned to duty."

"Lemme guess. If I push, you'll give me a bunch of fifty dollar words over how noble the shrink business is, but if you tell the truth, you don't like talking to them no better than I do." Ray said, smirking. "But you know, sometimes you have to suck it up and try anyway."

"Well-" Fraser shrugged and rolled his eyes. Ray was far too perceptive. "I can't say I have any particular confidence in the RCMP's appointed psychiatric consultant. My last evaluation was cursory at best. I can't imagine getting any good out of seeing someone."

Ray shook his head. "Okay, so the Mountie shrink sucked."

Fraser made a noise of protest. It was one thing to say his evaluation was cursory, but he couldn't let Ray's disrespect pass uncontested.

"Well, did he ask about your Dad's death?"

"No, Ray, but-"

"How about how you're doin' being so far from home?"

"No, but-"

"Ask about how you felt about your place burning down?"

"No, he-"

"Fraser, did he ask how you were coping with the back pain? I mean, it's on the record you got shot in the back."

"No."

"About anything important? All the life threatening situations you get in? Anything?"

"No, Ray." Fraser said. He was forced to admit that perhaps the psychologist did, in Ray's parlance, suck. "He showed me some ink blot cards."

"Well, least he did something." Ray said sarcastically. "Useless as an ashtray on a motorbike. You need to see someone good. I got contacts. I can hook you up."

"Ray, I'd really rather..."

"Here, have a drink of this, and listen to me." Ray said firmly, unzipping his bag and handing Fraser the thermos. He was beginning to get cold as light snow started to drift in a desultory way from the sky, and a warm drink would do them both good. Plus, it might get Fraser to shut up long enough to hear him out.

Fraser missed having his hand in Ray's, but the hot, sweet coffee seemed to do him good.

"So listen." Ray said. He felt nervous. It was really important to him that Fraser understand what he had to say. "It's like this. We're partners. First and foremost. Gotta do the job, gotta take care of Vecchio's cover. We're good partners, and I'm proud to call you that." He smiled, to emphasize his words.

"And we're friends. I'm happy to be your friend, been happy since the first time you said you'd call me that. As your friend, I'm here for you through this shitty time. And some time soon, I hope we'll be more. I do. I want that so bad. I was waiting you out, y'know, but I've known for a while that we could be special. We could be the greatest."

Fraser sucked in his breath at this declaration, but didn't interrupt. It was obvious that there was a 'but' lurking at the end of Ray's speech.

"But no matter how I feel, I can't make you get better. I dunno how long you've been down so far this time, but I can't pull you out, not on my own. It's going to take work, work you have to do yourself. And you're gonna need help. More than I know how to give. I don't know how to fix how bad things are broken. You gotta get strong again, just like doing PT after an injury. You need to lean on someone, an' I can't carry all the weight."

"So, if I don't agree to see someone, that's it?" Fraser said softly. He couldn't stand the thought of baring his soul to a stranger. "I can't, Ray, I just can't. Please don't ask me to."

"And I can't do this if you won't get help." Ray said, more sharply now. "You can't? You can't? Jesus, Frase, do you think I can do this? Wonder when I'm going to lose you, wonder if I'm smart enough to stop you next time, sharp enough to spot when you're scamming me that everything's okay?" His voice rose rapidly. "I can't do that, I won't. I need to know I can trust you. I need you to do this one thing for me. God damnit, you stupid, selfish sonofabitch. You could have been killed." The things he'd been tamping down through all the hours since he'd found Fraser on the ground rose up and spilled from his lips, hurt and angry. He turned to face Fraser, who was clutching the thermos and looking startled. "How could you leave me like that? How _could_ you? God dammit. To hell with this."

Fraser dropped the thermos, which fell to the snow-covered ground with a soft thud. The expression on his face was bleak heartache. Ray reached out and gathered Fraser into his arms, feeling the steadfast man finally let go and sob into his shoulder.

"Ray..." the words came out choked and shaky. "God, I'm so sorry. Stupid. I thought. I was so tired. Alone. I couldn't see. Blind. Stupid. Sorry. Can't lose you. Please don't. Don't leave me. So sorry. Would have lost you... can't lose you now... didn't know... stupid."

Ray ran his hand soothingly up and down Fraser's back. Although Fraser was broader and heavier than him, it felt somehow natural to hold him and comfort him like this.

"Shh..." Ray said urgently, "Don't go choking yourself up now. It's going to be okay."

"But... You... angry..."

"Yes. Yeah. Mad as hell. Yes, you did somethin' stupid. Yes, it's gonna take work for me to get past that and trust you like I need to. And you need to know I was mad, we couldn't go far with me pretendin' I was okay with you pulling such a dumbass stunt. But you gotta understand. You're human. You're entitled to a major screw up, every now and again. I'm entitled to be mad at you for it. But it doesn't mean I won't love you, and I won't forgive you. You don't have to be always perfect, you just have to learn how to take screwing up and being forgiven, which I guess is hard on you."

Fraser was still shaking, but quiet now in Ray's arms. His eyes were closed. He wondered if he really understood. What Ray said made sense in a sort of 'things that happen to other people' way. He'd always been encouraged to strive for perfection, and he'd always had to pay, over and over, for any mistakes he'd made. The thought that he could just 'screw up' as Ray put it, and be forgiven because Ray loved him, seemed almost too big and wonderful to be possible.

"I'll- I'll go and see someone." he said, finally.

"Good, greatness." Ray said. He wasn't letting go. Fraser's outburst was so uncharacteristic even given the strain he'd been under, that Ray wanted to keep him safe, sheltered.

"What can I do to make things better, Ray?" Fraser asked. He opened his eyes, the lashes dusted with fine snow flakes, and took in the marvel of Ray's beautiful face so close to his, the tender look of care that shone from it.

"We can do a few things. I'm not gonna make you deal with this all on your own. We find you someone to talk to. Get you out of the Consulate. You need a place of your own. Work on letting people know you're not always okay."

"I'm not going to lose you?" Fraser said, hope once again dawning in his voice.

"Have to gouge me off you with a pry bar." Ray said, flashing the grin that made Fraser's knees weak. Fraser leaned in and kissed Ray, a deep, demanding kiss.

When he pulled away, Fraser looked, endearingly to Ray, at his most serious, upright and earnest. Ray liked seeing some of the old steel back in Fraser's spine.

Fraser said "I'll earn your trust back, Ray. I know you want to take things slowly. But when you're ready to let me love you, I promise I'll show you how much you mean to me."

Ray believed that was the simple, honest to god, truth. It filled him with a strange mix of wonder and trepidation. Fraser falling apart all over him and clinging to him for reassurance was freaky weird and didn't give Ray total confidence that the Mountie knew his own feelings, but that straight-up gaze and the firm way he made his promise, that was his Benton through and through, no allowances for maybe going a bit crazy now and then needed. He pulled Fraser back in and returned the kiss with interest.

"Yeah, you... you do that." he murmured, with a sly grin. There was no need to hurry things, but he was looking forward to an interesting future. For his part, Ray would show Fraser what it meant to be courted, he'd show him how cherished he was. It was going to be greatness.

As touching as the moment was, Ray still felt responsible in a practically custodial way for Fraser's current physical well-being. As such, he thought that in the excruciating hour it had taken them to talk things through, Fraser had spent quite enough time in the cold. Leaning over to pick up the thermos and screw the lid back on, Ray said "Come on, let's get back into the warm." He looked around, and sure enough, Diefenbaker was trotting over toward them as if clairvoyant. Warm meant apartment and snacks. The wolf couldn't hear, but he had a sixth sense for snacks.


	4. So Make Your Choice Joy

**Chapter 4 - So Make Your Choice Joy**

After all the emotional upheaval, when the three arrived back at Ray's apartment, Ray insisted that they do nothing more strenuous than sit on the couch and let insipid day time television wash over them. Fraser didn't seem inclined to argue. They were both tired, physically and mentally.

Ray's brain was still ticking over on overdrive. He twitched and wiggled, constantly rearranging himself on the small couch, to Fraser's concern. Fraser was still feeling raw, open, and, he had to admit to himself, scared. Opening up to Ray meant leaving himself vulnerable to Ray's fast-moving moods.

"Is something the matter?" Fraser asked softly.

"Yeah. No. Yeah." Ray said, not clarifying things at all. Ray sat up straighter and twitched his body so he was facing Fraser. "Look. I've been thinking."

Fraser stiffened, waiting to hear a judgement passed.

"Not about you..." Ray said, grinning slightly ruefully, and reaching over to stroke Fraser's knee calmingly. "About me. I can't do this on my own. I'm sorry. Listen, I..." he stood up. "Would it be okay if I called Welsh? I don't got a lot of people I can turn to, we don't, not right now. I mean... I just need to talk to someone. It's a lot, you know."

Fraser closed his eyes, fear pounding through him, then opened them again. "He... he would be obligated to take official notice." He swallowed. Well, he'd been foolish to think he could avoid the consequences of his actions.

Ray suddenly squatted at his feet, holding on to his knees for balance and looking into his eyes. "I don't- I mean, yeah, maybe, but I don't think so. He's a fair guy."

"It would be fair." Fraser said despondently. "I got myself in to this situation. It would be just for me to pay the price." If Welsh felt that he had to inform Inspector Thatcher, it would put Fraser's career in jeopardy. At the very least he would be suspended, and there was every chance that he'd be reassigned somewhere behind a desk to moulder away to oblivion.

"It would _not_ be fair." Ray said. He squeezed Fraser's knees. "I wouldn't do this if I thought he'd turn you in, but I don't think he will. Not if you're gonna see someone. I just can't do this alone. I know it's a big chance to take, but I don't think he'd screw you."

Fraser licked his lips anxiously. Ray needed someone to vent to. He could understand that. Ray had been so good to him. Ray, Ray was Mr. Instinct.

"You think it will be all right?" Fraser said, wistfully. He wanted to trust Ray, Ray's instincts. They had been standing between him and the end of the world all day.

"No promises, but yeah, I think so." Ray said. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Don't think the Lieutenant would either."

"Well. Yes, then, please do call him." Fraser said, making a leap of faith.

Half an hour later, Ray was ready to go out to meet Welsh and talk. Before he left, he turned to where Fraser sat on the couch, staring blankly at the television.

"You're not gonna sit there and brood the whole time I'm out." Ray said flatly, standing within Fraser's tight personal space.

"Oh." Fraser rubbed his hand through his hair. There wasn't anything that he really wanted to be doing right now. He felt washed out. But Ray was right. Once Ray left, he probably would fall back into a not-so-good state of mind.

"I could clean?" He offered, half tentatively. "I mean, not that I intend to imply that your habits are anything less than-"

Ray grinned sharply. "Actually, they're everything less than, but I get you. It's something that doesn't take too much thinking, just doing. Cleaning supplies are in the kitchen."

"I shall only require some white vinegar, bicarbonate of soda, and old newspapers. Perhaps a used toothbrush." Fraser said.

Ray gave him a long look. Yup, there it was, Fraser was pulling his leg. Not in a terrifically funny way, but with enough of his old spark to please Ray immensely.

"You're unhinged." Ray jabbed. "And you're just going to have to put up with the fancy stuff Mom left last time she decided this place was a pig sty. So there."

Fraser sighed. "However shall I manage? Well, needs must when the devil drives."

Ray's grin softened to an affectionate smile. It meant a lot that Fraser was still able to tease him."Just take it easy, okay? Dief, make sure he doesn't wear himself out playing Cinderella." Ray let his hand brush softly across Fraser's head. "I won't be too long. Don't worry so much. It'll be okay."

Impulsively, before he left his apartment, Ray darted over to his stereo. "Just one house rule. You can't clean without cleaning music. This'll cure what ails you."

Fraser had time only to look startled before Ray was out the door and a slow, insistent beat picked out on a rhythm guitar started from the stereo. He stood up stiffly and stretched out before going to look at the CD case Ray left on top of the stereo. PJ Harvey. He was unfamiliar with the person, well, from the voice, the young lady in question, but the harsh, driving, moaning quality of her voice certainly accorded with his mood even if it was nothing he'd have chosen to listen to himself. He set out to lose himself in the ritual of cleaning.

Ray waited at the bar he'd arranged to meet Welsh at. It seemed odd to be away from Fraser. They'd been together for nearly twenty four hours continuously now, in a little bubble of desperate weirdness. Ray felt like he could suddenly breathe again, but at the same time, like someone cut his arm off or something. He kept finding himself looking around to make sure Fraser was okay.

Harding Welsh slid into the booth opposite Ray. "I trust this is important." he said.

"Yeah. It's about Fraser. Off the record, I hope."

"What's the problem, Kowalski?" Welsh looked anxious. "Something more to last night's incident that you're not telling me?"

"You could say that." Ray said. He fidgeted nervously.

"Spit it out. What is it? Hurt worse than you thought? Someone coming after him? Gerrard loose again? What?"

"Nothin' like that. Look. It wasn't so much an accident that Frase got himself beat up last night."

Welsh glared. "Are you telling me that the Constable went looking for a fight?"

"Not so much a fight." Ray's head hung, his hands spread out on the table, palms down. He knew the Lieutenant would understand what he was implying.

Welsh drew his breath in sharply. "You left him alone?"

"Do I look stupid? Don't answer. The wolf's with him. The wolf is on his case."

"Okay. Good. But you know what you're saying. You know the position this puts me in. I should report this to his superiors right the hell now."

"And I'm hopin' you won't." Ray swallowed. "I'm talking to you because he needs friends. Hell, I need friends. I don't have a lot going on what with being undercover and all. Can't do this on my own."

Welsh crossed his arms. "Talk to me, Kowalski, lay it all out. What the hell is going on, and what are you going to do about it?"

Ray sighed. "As for what the hell is going on, I guess I shoulda seen it, and I didn't. I suck. The guy's hurting, bad. You remember how he looked that day when Frannie was cleaning him up after- you know."

"Yeah, I'm not likely to forget." Welsh said.

"Well, I guess what I'm saying," Ray said, "is it's like that, all the time, under the perfect Mountie act. It's like that. For a while now. I shoulda seen. I guess he ... there are lots of reasons, you know. Lots of bad shit in his past. But mostly it's just... " He looked at Welsh with obvious pain in his eyes.

"I went to one of those seminars on what to say to jumpers. They, uh, gave us statistics on depression. I forget now what exactly. But it's not ... it's not that uncommon. But _Fraser_."

"I'm surprised, myself." Welsh said. "Disconcerting. You and me, Kowalski, we've got a few years experience under our belts, hell, I've seen a lot of cops burn out, and bad, but we missed that." He sounded thoughtful and hurt.

"He was snowing us the whole time. Really didn't want to be found out."

"All right. So that's what happened, but tell me why I shouldn't tell Inspector Thatcher, and what you're planning on doing about the situation." Welsh said heavily. "Make it good. Make it real good."

"Okay, but no bullshit here. This is man to man, not me talking to my Lieutenant, right?"

"For now, yeah. Sure. Talk."

"Those assholes already had their pound of flesh. You know what it'll do to his career if we let them in on it. He's put up with RCMP crap from day one, his Dad and all, then they screwed him over sticking him down here and treating him like mud just for getting it all right when they got it wrong. Their psych consultant is a joke. It'd just be punishing him more, and I think he's been punished enough."

Welsh nodded. "Man to man, I do not disagree with your assessment. But he still has to see someone."

"I was hoping you'd help with that, like, know someone reliable or something. I know he has to see someone. And I got plans, well, he's agreed, there's an apartment coming up empty in my building next week, hasn't been rented out yet. My landlady was bitching about it out by the mailboxes yesterday. We're going to move him in there so he has a place of his own and I can still keep an eye on him."

Welsh looked at Ray skeptically. His detective looked exhausted. Bone weary.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll keep my mouth shut, keep this off the record, and do what I can to help, as long as he makes his appointments. I do know someone he can talk to, good lady. Smart as a whip. He won't put one over on her. But, and I say this not as your Lieutenant, but hopefully as someone you respect," he glared steadily at Ray, "I trust you to make sure he goes to those appointments, and I hold you responsible to inform me immediately if he starts skipping, at which point I won't have any choice but to take official notice. Does that sound fair, Kowalski?"

"Yeah, sir." Ray scrubbed his hand through his hair tiredly. "Yeah, that's fair. I got responsibility for him until he's back on his feet, I already figured that out."

"You need to talk to someone, too." Welsh said kindly.

"I don't wanna." Ray whined in a childish tone.

"But you know you have to."

"Yeah, I know."

"I should see someone for being crazy enough to let you get away with this." Welsh rolled his eyes. "But he's a damn good cop, and god help me but I have enough of a soft spot for the poor bastard that I think he deserves better than what those desk jockeys in Ottawa would do to him."

--

Although Ray didn't have an old toothbrush handy, Fraser had found a small, battered nail brush among the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink. To the accompaniment of Polly Harvey singing about lovers and monsters, the CD playing for a second repeat, he was on his knees in the bathroom scrubbing single-mindedly at every millimetre of filthy grout between the tiles around Ray's bathtub. The smell of the cleaner was harsh, an alkaline bite in his nose and mouth, and his hands were wrinkled already, and there was so much, so impossibly much to clean, scrubbing until it was white, until his soul was clean again, perhaps.

Diefenbaker watched from the doorway of the bathroom. Fraser looked up, the twist of his neck and back sending sparks of pain through him.

"You know, I don't need constant supervision." He felt sorry for Diefenbaker. If the bleach was bothering his sensitive nose, it must be truly upsetting to the wolf.

Diefenbaker snapped a reply.

"No, I just need to keep busy. It's something I can do. The grout starts out dirty and I can make it clean. It's tangible."

Another protesting sound from the wolf.

"I know. All right, I'll stop for now. I just. I just don't know - I hardly know how to imagine a future."

Diefenbaker's next whine sounded far more sympathetic, inferring much that was unsaid in Fraser's statement.

"I suppose so. There's no other way but one day at a time, really. Sometimes hope is far more disconcerting than despair." He didn't say 'terrifying,' or even 'scary.' 'Disconcerting' was as close as he could come to admitting that the possibility of a future full of love meant admitting that he still had something left to lose, and that thought was equal parts wonderful mystery and petrifying agony.

Diefenbaker's head went up as the apartment door opened and the vibrations of Ray's footsteps resonated through the floorboards. He ran out of the bathroom to greet Ray. Fraser got to his feet. Ray was home, and he heard other footsteps - Lieutenant Welsh. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and then winced, too rough against the bruises, he'd forgotten. Trusting Ray's instincts was difficult, trusting that it was all right to let Welsh see him like this nearly impossible.

"Hey, Fraser, you can stop cleaning now." Ray called out. His voice didn't seem to hold any dire portent. Fraser stopped to wash his hands and went out to greet Ray and Welsh.

"I'm just going to take Dief out for a walk." Ray said.

"But he's already been for two-" Fraser's protest ended when he saw the significant glance Ray was giving him, the glance that supplied the rest of Ray's sentence: "And leave you here to talk with Lieutenant Welsh."

Ray slipped out the door with Diefenbaker and Welsh and Fraser stood looking at each other in silence for a moment. Welsh felt like he was really seeing what was going on behind the diplomatic repose of Fraser's face, for perhaps the first time in the years they'd worked together. That disturbed him. He'd almost seen it at Christmas time, when Fraser had been brought so low, but they'd fixed things up with a bit of All-American ingenuity. One good bust had appeared to be all that was needed to get Fraser back in good spirits.

Welsh felt like an idiot for falling for that. The bitter little toast at the Christmas party should have alerted him to the trouble brewing under the Stetson, but it wasn't as if the Canadians had a lock on bringing up men who didn't know how to talk about their feelings, and it'd been a plain, honest relief to believe that Fraser was going to be fine.

Which he looked far from. Fine was not the word for the man in front of him.

"Siddown, Constable, for god's sakes." Welsh said. He took a chair as Fraser perched gingerly on the edge of the couch.

"Now, don't panic, I already made a deal with Ray that if you get counseling, I am, against my better judgement, going to keep my mouth shut."

Fraser sagged back into the couch, relief obvious on his face. "Thank you, Sir, I-"

"You're a man of your word. I'm counting on that."

"Yes, sir."

"Under the circumstances, call me Harding." Welsh said.

Fraser studied Welsh's face, finding an unprecedented softening of the lines. He didn't think that Harding Welsh could ever be called sentimental, but he detected kindness, a more intense version of the expression Welsh had worn when he'd welcomed Fraser back from his vacation to the Territories, knowing that Fraser had lost Ray Vecchio and didn't know it yet.

"Thank you, Harding. I don't know what else to say." he spread his hands out in front of him, as if demonstrating that he was empty of words.

"You don't have to say anything. I gather Kowalski already put you through the third degree today." Welsh said with a wry expression. "I just want you to know you can come to me. Glad Kowalski figured he could, guessed you need an engraved invitation. When one of my junior officers-" he paused and fixed Fraser with his sharpest gaze "is experiencing troubles, I don't want the first I find out about it to be a call from Mort."

"Understood." Fraser said softly.

Welsh stood up and walked over to clap Fraser on the shoulder.

"And when one of my friends is hurting, I want him to understand that he has people on his side, people he can count on. You won't be doing this alone."

That was almost too much for Fraser, and he froze under the kind touch and the generous words.

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." Fraser blurted, only half aware of what he was saying.

Welsh chuckled dryly. "Not any more, Constable. You want a quote? How about 'Friends are God's way of apologizing for our families.' I guess you and me, and Kowalski, hell, Vecchio, hell, pick a guy down at the precinct, know about families letting us down. So you join the force, you get a whole lot of brothers. Can't make up for all the ways we got let down before, but take my advice, and lean on what you've got for all it's worth."

It was good advice, Fraser thought. Lean on them. Lean on Ray's instincts, Welsh's surprising protectiveness, the warm, if not terribly deep, camaraderie of the 27th. Trust their strength until he got his logic sorted out and his feet back under him. It was the sort of temptation he would have spurned as being false hope two nights ago, but now he dared to believe it was real.

--

After losing a witness in an important case, really losing, as in almost certainly the guy was dead losing, Ray had to accept that Fraser's unorthodox approach to infiltrating the target of the prosecution, one Nicholas Van Zandt's organization, might be the only chance they had left to nail him. Still, he was uneasy as Fraser demonstrated his deep trance technique for faking his own death. The morgue made him uncomfortable at the best of times, and the whole thing had a surreal Bela Lugosi feel to it.

Disconcerting was not even close to the word Ray would have used to describe seeing his partner in a coffin. Sure, they'd been over it all, the reasons why Fraser had to fake his own death to infiltrate the funeral parlor. It made perfect, morbid, zealous-Fraser sense. In one way it should have reassured Ray to see Fraser risking his neck for justice in that passionate way. But it cost him to witness it in this particular fashion.

It hadn't been long enough for him not to dread that Fraser might still want that for REAL. It hadn't been long enough for Ray's knuckles to heal from going bare knuckle against a heavy bag, cursing Fraser for an selfish bloody idiot, letting out his own fury once he was sure that Fraser was going to be all right. It was going to be a cold day in hell before it'd been long enough for him to stare down the sight of his beloved looking _dead_ like that with anything approaching sense or calm. He didn't know how he got through the performance until the moment Fraser sat up in the coffin and made his weeping friends and stunned criminal targets drop like flies.

Being dragged out into the back room of the funeral parlor (and another time he'd have to explain why that was so gross) while the uniforms processed the arrests, and pressed to the wall for a lip sucking, tongue-thrusting kiss at the end of proceedings did something to mollify Ray.

"Woah."

"I had to come back for you. You were my light. You know, don't you, I don't want that, I don't, not any more."

"I know, I know, I know, Benton, god, yes, you're alive."

Ray forced himself to remember that it was his idea to take things slowly when he just wanted to cover every inch of Fraser's skin with kisses to reassure himself of that crucial fact. But -slow- slow was important. They both deserved to do it right. He'd just have to find a distraction, which he had plenty of practice at.

"Uh, listen." Ray said, still pressed to the wall. "I got a lot of, you know, pent up, energy, stuff, from all this."

"Yes?" Fraser's voice was a curious purr.

"Let'sgoassembleyourbookshelves." Ray spat out. He'd been avoiding helping Fraser with the Swedish Torture Bookshelves for several nights now. Fraser was discovering the joy of really furnishing his own apartment in Ray's complex, and while Ray encouraged him, reading bizarre instructions about what slot fit in which tab or vice versa was so not his idea of a good night in.

Fraser's head thumped to the wall beside Ray's, his hands still gripping Ray's arms.

"That wasn't what I had in mind, but I imagine it'd be a good idea." he said reluctantly.

Later, hex key in one hand, bewildering diagram in another, Ray broke the comfortable silence.

"So how's it been going with Doctor Runyon?" he asked. "Welsh said she was good." It was coming up on two weeks since Fraser had started twice a week sessions. Ray drove him and picked him up after each one, but he'd been suppressing his curiosity as best he could.

There was a long pause. Fraser screwed the upright beam of a bookshelf to a back brace while he thought about the answer. There was an uncomplicated happiness in the thought of having his _own_ bookshelves, filled with books, as many as he wanted, and no reason he shouldn't have them. Locking himself away from the solaces he loved had done nothing except punish himself.

The happiness that he was finding with Ray, and reaching out to other people, was more complicated. There was work ahead. But Ray, Ray was good to him and deserved to hear how the work was coming.

"It's difficult." he said finally. "It doesn't come naturally to me, to stop hiding things."

"She doesn't think you're cracked, though, right? Because you're still liaising."

"She's not concerned about my immediate mental state, no. Not any more. She's satisfied that I have passed through that particular crisis, thanks largely to your intervention."

Ray bowed his head down, concentrating intensely on the cryptic hieroglyphs on the page in front of him. "So that's good." he said, not acknowledging Fraser's praise.

"Yes. We're doing a lot of work with cognitive behavioral therapy. Altering my reactions to circumstances, learning to counteract the negative assumptions that I've been making about myself. It's appealing to me largely because it's a very rational approach."

Ray looked at him sharply at this, and Fraser nodded, acknowledging the unspoken concern.

"I know. She's also working with me on some more traditional talk therapy. The sort of thing you would associate with a couch." Fraser smiled oddly, as if in a small amount of pain. "That is more difficult for me, but I see that it's important to let go of some of my need for control of the situation, to let go of some hurts and let her help me to heal."

"Good." Ray said. "You can't fix everything with that big brain of yours."

"That's true, but not easy to accept." Fraser said. There was another long pause, Ray sorting out six different kinds of screws into small piles, and Fraser fastening the second end of the brace to the other upright of the bookshelf.

"She's also been working with me on assertiveness." Fraser said. "Being honest with people about what I need."

"Noticed that." Ray said, with a fierce pride in his voice. "At the station. Frannie, then Dewey."

"Yes."

Francesca Vecchio had interrupted Fraser at the station earlier in the week while he was reading through some case file notes for Ray. She had demanded his help with the computer, and he'd turned her away, noting that not only was he busy, but if she kept asking him for help, she'd never become competent at the skills necessary for her job.

Then, when Dewey made a remark to Detective Huey about Fraser finally telling Francesca off, Fraser had turned and snapped, "You know, it's rather impolite to talk about me as if I'm not here, Detective."

Ray gave him style points for shooting down two irritants with one stone.

"But that's not all I need." Fraser said. "I know, we have to take it slowly. Doctor Runyon approves of that too, she doesn't want me to rush into something without being sure I'm on firmer ground. I just want you to know."

Fraser put down his screwdriver and crawled toward Ray. Ray abruptly dropped his hex key and moved forward toward Fraser, messing up his neat pile of screws.

"Know what?" he said, hardly daring to breathe. The light in Fraser's eyes was so intense. Then there wasn't even a hair's breadth between them.

"I love you. I want you. I will wait, but I want you." The kiss this time made the hasty, hungry thing in the funeral parlor seem like a chaste peck on the lips. Fraser's mouth pushed against Ray's, his lips warm, his tongue darting out to demand entrance, pressing home the advantage, then sliding back as Fraser sucked Ray's lower lip between his teeth then released it, only to repeat the same gently possessive routine on his upper lip before diving back in. Ray went with it. They could wait, but right now waiting could wait. This was them together, and whatever happened, together was going to be good.

_End_

Don't be afraid  
Open your mouth and say  
Say what your soul sings to you  
Your mind can never change  
Unless you ask it to  
Lovingly re-arrange  
The thoughts that make you blue  
The things that bring you down  
Only do harm to you  
So make your choice joy  
The joy belongs to you  
And when you do  
You'll find the one you love is you  
You'll find you love you

-_What Your Soul Sings_, Massive Attack


End file.
